The Science of It All
by bandgirlz
Summary: What is science, after all, but the tools to unlocking a mystery? Orihime discovers it might be the key to her brainy beau's heart. IshiHime. Written for Bleach Romances Fanfiction Contest, Phase III, Round One. Please vote!


**The Science of It All**

Uryuu was standing on air when she found him, high above the skies of Karakura town. Orihime edged out onto the ledge of the nearest building.

"Hey, Ishida-kun," she called, waving her arm in a vigorous gesture. He turned to her and his eyes bugged out, glancing from her to the ground and back again.

"What are you doing? It's not safe up here!"

She shrugged. "You're up here. You and Kurosaki-kun are always up here. It's not fair that you can and I can't."

"We can because it's not dangerous for us!"

"Well, then, I'll make it not dangerous for me, too," she said, crossing her arms and giving a firm nod. She knew it was nonsensical, but she was honestly frustrated. And besides, Uryuu was adorable when he was flustered by her nonsense.

He sputtered, just as she'd hoped he would. "Just because—you can't—gravity is a law for a reason."

"A law that people with superpowers can break, right? I think I'll just come up with my own superpower," she continued. "Super…" She couldn't think of anything. "Super…" She took a step forward—pacing always helped her think—and plummeted through the air. "Oops."

"Inoue!"

The wind in her hair was exhilarating. If this was gravity, it was a terrifying, beautiful thing. "Santen Kesshun!" she called, summoning her hairclip fairies, and curling into a ball to brace for the impact of the unforgiving shield. Her momentum stopped short, but not with a jarring crash. Arms like iron bars clasped under her bust, holding her against a strong chest. If she were Matsumoto, she would turn in those arms and coo and ask how often he worked out. But despite her resemblance to her one-time friend, Orihime was, indeed, not Matsumoto, and so she did nothing of the sort.

She held in a sigh as Uryuu brought them safely to the ground, and when he didn't remove his arms, she didn't say anything. He could hold on to her all day, and she would let him, take her home with him, and she wouldn't object either. The sigh she'd been holding in slipped out, making her bosom heave. The bottoms of her fabric-encased breasts brushed his fingers, and he jumped back as if he'd been burned. Perhaps he had. Perhaps she had evil, fire-breathing breasts and she'd never realized it, and that was why no one wanted her.

"Inoue, I'm sorry," Uryuu muttered. She didn't have to turn around to know he was adjusting his glasses, fixing that barrier that kept the world and him apart.

He didn't stutter like Ichigo would have; the two may be best friends, but they were so very different, more than the titles Shinigami and Quincy could ever explain. Ichigo was open to the world, that was what she'd always loved about him, but after more than a year of being drawn into his circle of protection, she'd learned everything about him that she'd ever wanted to know. Uryuu was still a mystery, and part of him always would be. What would it take to get behind that wall of glass?

"It's okay, Ishida-kun," she said, tossing him a smile. "I shouldn't have been so careless. Thank you for saving me!"

He flushed red, and his hands twitched, rising to his shoulders only to drop, useless, to his sides. He'd been about to adjust his glasses, only he'd just done so, and couldn't justify doing it again. It was his nervous tic, his "tell," so to speak.

Understanding hit her, and her smiled deepened, becoming real. Getting behind that wall might not be so hard after all; maybe it wasn't nearly as wide or solid as it seemed. Maybe it was made of plastic rather than glass.

Orihime sent up a quick prayer to Matsumoto, then jumped off the figurative cliff. No guts, no glory: she'd always believed it, but she'd never wanted anything enough to put it into practice. She turned all the way around, grasped one of those twitching hands, and brought it to rest right over her heart. And, consequently, her bosom.

"I was so scared," she breathed, working her wide eyes for all they were worth. After all, it was true; she'd been terrified. "Feel how fast my heart is beating."

Again he stepped back, but she held on to his hand forcing him to yank it from her. He placed his other hand on their joined ones, bringing them down and squeezing hers before he pulled gently away. "I'm glad you're okay. I should go, I have a shift at the hospital."

She blinked at him. "Won't you walk me home, first?" It was ridiculous for her even to ask: broad daylight, a hundred or so of their neighbors milling about, and completely out of his way. But she knew his principles would force him to agree, and she wanted this extra time with him, shameless as it may be.

"Of course." He was more starched up than ever, from the bottom of his loafers to the top of his button-up shirt. On the outside, conventional in every way—on the inside, so much more.

Orihime walked a step closer to him than was appropriate. "So you're still interning at the hospital?" she asked him. "Still dead set on becoming a doctor like your father?"

"That's the plan."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know how you can like science so much. It's so cold."

He chuckled. "No one but you would call saving lives cold, Inoue." His eyes brightened, glowing like coals in a perpetual fire. "Curing a disease is like the ultimate mystery; breaking down all the pieces and parts, examining the clues, testing hypotheses until you find the right answer. Doctors are like detectives for the ill, and science is our toolbox."

Forget diseases; people were mystery enough for Orihime. But maybe he was right about science—this was, after all, an experiment. After a breath for courage, she slipped her hand back into his, swinging their arms back and forth as if doing so were the most natural thing in the world, and nothing but a child's urge to play.

He stopped and looked at her. "Inoue-san, I'm not sure that—"

"How long have we been friends now, Uryuu?" she asked him, continuing to walk until their linked arms stretched between them. It was telling that he caught up with her rather than let their fingers part. "Years? And yet I still remember the day I met you, in the first week of high school when I stepped into the sewing club's meeting room, and there you were. Did you know what a fuss you caused? A boy, invading our inner sanctum? Some wanted to throw you out, figuring you were a creeper, but then you started to sew and you dazzled all of us." She looked up at him, saw him looking carefully at everything but her. But his fingers were twitching. "Are you always like that, Uryuu? So much more than what you seem?"

"Inoue, I don't think—"

"But of course you do. You think more than anyone! Isn't that your prized scientific method? You take in data and you analyze and you categorize and you make assumptions and take actions based on those categories. Virus. Bacterial infection. Shinigami. Quincy. Boy. Girl. Friend. Girl—" She broke off before she said too much.

"You already mentioned that one."

The sun was warm on her bare shoulders, and Orihime wondered if she could strip off her tank top and feel that warmth all over, and if he would do anything but clear his throat and look politely away. Would that be a worthy enough experiment for him? "What if your assumptions are wrong, Uryuu? What if people don't want to stay in the categories you've put them in? What will you do then?"

He shrugged, leading her up the steps to her house. "It wouldn't be all that surprising. Re-evaluate, I guess."

Orihime knew a moment of truth when she saw one. Flipping around, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pecked him a kiss, square on the mouth. His lips were warm and soft, and breaking away took more effort than she'd expected. She watched a sheet of plastic rip and puddle to the ground. "Re-evaluate, then." Her hand stroked down his chest before she disappeared through her waiting front door.

When she checked ten minutes later, he was still outside on her front stoop with his mouth agape. So she went outside, invited him in, and served him tea. It was, after all, what a good girlfriend would do.

* * *

**A/N:** Short and sweet. Hopefully not sickeningly so. These characters are just so cute together, it takes great care to write a story about them that doesn't make unwary readers want to gag. I do hope I've succeeded...please review and let me know.


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